“Somebody’s gonna get hurt around
here with this experimentin’…“
In the 1930s
it wasn’t just the Poverty Row studios that gave us B-picture horror clunkers.
Columbia released this fugazi of a gem (aka He
Lived to Kill) starring Bela Lugosi and directed by Ben Stoloff before they
achieved major status. It’s amusingly bad with a plot resolution straight out
of the Scooby-Doo play-book, but rattles along at a good pace as long as you
don’t step on the evident cracks. Night
of Terror hinges rustily on the combined tropes of ‘mad-man on the loose’
with a Cat and the Canary-style war
of attrition as relatives feuding over a will are bumped off one by one – and
mixes them with the binding agent of a (very) little science for good measure.
The film
begins with that peculiarly pointless device of showing us clips of each principal
cast member in turn, yet titling them with their character name instead of
their stage name - to what purpose? In a sense, the mystery has already begun…
A maniac
serial-killer is at large in America, leaving newspaper-clippings pinned to his
victims’ bodies. For some reason, he focuses his spree on the Rinehart Mansion
where wealthy head of the family Richard Rinehart (Tully Marshall) watches over
his nephew Dr Arthur Hornsby (George Meeker) as he perfects a laboratory potion
that will enable a human to live for extended periods of time without oxygen.
He will later prove this by allowing himself to be buried alive. Marshall
already had form in this horror sub-genre, having played the lawyer in 1927’s The Cat and the Canary. Meeker was also
well established at playing gloomy, unlucky in love wimps. Here he demonstrates
this by being so wrapped up in his test-tubes that he isn’t aware his fiancé
Mary (Sally Blane) is none-too-convincingly fending off the attentions of wise-guy
newshound Tom Hartley, played by Wallace Ford. She protests too much that she
is not interested in the crude scoop-hunter, while he reveals they’ve just been
to the movies together. Later on, she doesn’t exactly tear herself away from
him when he grabs her for an impulsive snog either.
Ford’s
real-life adventures were worthy of a feature himself. Born Samuel Jones Grundy
(or Grundy Jones), he was placed into a Dr Barnardo’s orphanage in Bolton,
Lancashire at the age of three. Four years later, he was packed off to Canada as
part of a government drive to populate Empire farming families in the territory
with home-grown adoptees. Sadly, he was one of the 100,000-plus kids unlucky
enough to be subjected to conditions of Dickensian cruelty. After a horrendous period
of fleeing and forced resettlement totalling 17 times, he escaped the cycle to
find a better home and an introduction to showbiz on the road with the
vaudeville troupe the Winnipeg Kiddies. At the age of 16, Samuel and a pal
hitched their way aboard trains to make their fortune in America. Their grand
plans were marred by tragedy however when his friend was killed by a train,
prompting Samuel to take his name of Wallace Ford, partly as a tribute and also
to erase his awful past. Aside from his
good-hearted Phroso in Freaks (1932), Ford went on to a long career
including two more of Universal’s re-activated franchise sequels The Mummy’s Hand and The Mummy’s Tomb. He also enjoyed the
happy ending of a reunion with his long-lost mother in England after a
life-time of believing he was an orphan.
Back in the
lab, the mood emanating from Arthur is less rosy. It’s oddly fitting that he’s
preparing to be interred since Meeker seems to recite his lines as a dreary, monotonous
eulogy. Surely he should be excited on the verge of a new scientific
break-through? With Lionel Atwill unavailable for a mad show-boating aria, we
must look elsewhere for energy in this house.
Fortunately, for those who like their dialogue
delivered with impact, enter Bela Lugosi, the master of delivering ‘portentous
force’ whether you like it or not. He is Degar the butler, although you’d be
forgiven for guessing him as an Indian Swami guest - or Sultan as the detective
later labels him - with his tunic, turban and exotic hooped ear-ring. Lugosi
was mired in such personal debt when he made Night of Terror that to make extra
money he pulled double-duty on this at night whilst filming as General
Petronovich in the W.C. Fields comedy International
House by day. This movie certainly does him no artistic favours; he simply
veers between the modes of either oppressive hypnotic stare or a pained grimace
of wholly understandable private mournfulness.
Degar is
something of a double-act partnered with Sika, (Mary Frey), the darkly
Latin-American maid who is given to Cassandra-like premonitions of doom. “Death is very close…” Together they
pronounce continual warnings to the family in no uncertain terms. Degar
dismisses newspaper contents as: “Nothing
but…murrr-der!” amongst other creepy pearls of glowering wisdom.
Homicide is
indeed very close. Richard Rinehart is murdered off-screen, emitting the
discomforting groan of someone passing a troublesome stool more than passing
away. We then begin to assemble the suspects in the drawing room, as it were. Firstly,
there is the elusive, grotesquely ugly Maniac himself - snaggle-toothed and broad-brimmed
of hat. We can rule out Tom and Mary as they have the alibi of a chauffeur-
driven return to the house whilst a Lovers’ Lane couple were being murdered.
Equally, we can cancel out the chauffeur himself, Martin, (Oscar Smith), a feat
the actor may wish to have had extended to the entire film in a sense as,
despite a sizeable part, he is clearly only there to inherit the ‘lawdy
lawd-able’ dumb black stereotype mantle from Willie Best in 1932’s The Monster Walks. (See earlier review).
Smith is required to play the wide-eyed coward and with a speech-pattern straight
off the southern plantation. Ironically, in spite of such relegation, he
displays the most common sense of any of the characters. Upon discovering that
in Rinehart’s will, each surviving heir inherits the shares of the others, he’d
rather be disinherited from his $100 a week inheritance that is paid “As long as I live”. It’s not only
Martin that is the victim of racism. The enigmatic Degar and Sika are twice
referred to as “heathens” for the
presumed impertinence of being foreign. Could they be guilty, especially as
Lugosi pauses to ponder the possibilities in the will for their own benefit?
Our
suspicions are meant to fall on the vulture pair of relatives who’ve suddenly arrived
to claim their shares. John and Sarah Rinehart (Bryant Washburn and Gertrude
Michael) resent the equal parity given to the servants in the will. This now
becomes a fun zero-sum game as one by one the bodies pile up, meaning Tom is repeatedly
on the ‘phone calling his updated copy through to the newspaper’s night desk
every time.
As the cast
are bumped off, more human firewood turns up for the bonfire. The cops arrive,
led by Matt McHugh, one of those Hollywood detectives who are amusingly interchangeable
with unsavoury mobsters. (It takes one to catch one?). Also now on hand are a
couple of professorial beards from the committee to witness Arthur’s scientific
experiment. Yes, finally he’s ready to prove his amazing life-serum’s
properties by having himself buried and rejuvenated by it - with all the enthusiasm
of a man reading out a Nigerian spam email. Arthur entrusts Degar with the only
key to the drug cabinet, impressing on him that they wait eight hours till 5 a.m.
before administering it. This begs the question ‘How will they give him the
serum in his grave without letting in oxygen that negates the whole point of
the experiment?’ Well, it’s all mind over matter really. Once you apply a mind
to this script, it ceases to matter.
John
Rinehart is not waiting around. He appears to incriminate himself by pilfering
the key from the dozing Degar, but is fatally stabbed by a shadowy
knife-wielding figure. Martin once more shows the smart instinct for self-preservation
everyone else lacks: “I don’t care where
you put me as long as you put me next to a door.” I know the feeling.
The plot of Night of Terror shrinks like a slug
under the salt of close examination but you have to admit it never stops moving.
The occupants decide to hold a séance led by Sika, much to the objections of
Degar. Sadly, she checks out with a scream whilst trying to contact her old
master on the astral plane.
The group
opts to revive Arthur early. Listen out for the esteemed professor who tells
the detective that the serum cabinet is “In
the lavatory”. The pace now moves into high gear. Degar is forced to open
the cabinet, yet sneakily stalls for time by drugging the supervising cop with “An oriental cigarette”- high gear of a
different sort.
Lo and
behold, we discover a secret tunnel from the grave used by Arthur, the real
criminal, who employed the Maniac (apparently shot dead and never explained as a character) in his dastardly plan
to liquidate all his rivals to the Rinehart fortune. His uncle Richard was also
dispatched because he allegedly had rumbled that Arthur’s wonder-drug was
bogus. It’s a refreshing change to see Lugosi in something of a rare heroic
vein, holding the culprit who would have got away with it if not for those
meddling er…kids.
Speaking of
rare, Night of Terror is extremely
hard to find. I was lucky to trace a private owner's copy, which unfortunately cuts
just before Edwin Maxwell as the Maniac actually rises from his dead place to
threaten the audience with dire consequences: “...If you dare tell anyone how this picture ends”. He needn’t go to all that trouble. Anyone who recommends this to a friend at
all will regret it – unless it’s for a so-bad-it’s good laugh.
Excellent commentary. The movie is a perfect example of early filmmaking. Brief, skimpy on logic and full of stereotypes.
ReplyDeleteI I really like the movie it was one of those great b pictures they made back in the day I don't agree with the negative reviews of it I enjoyed it from beginning to end it was funny at times suspenseful it doesn't deserve negative reviews
DeleteGreat movie doesn't deserve the negative reviews I've seen it a bunch of times it's funny and suspenseful
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